Hello darling readers! I have not spoken to you in one million years. It's not for lack of love, I promise.
So, let's talk about Sunday, shall we? Sunday is always a bit of a sad day. Whereas Saturday morning is full of the promise of the entire weekend, stretched out ahead like a thousand miles of highway and a full tank of gas (plus a fully charged battery, because naturally we're in a hybrid), Sunday is more like the the last hour of a party, when you know you'd better squeeze whatever fun you can from the song that's playing because it's about to come abruptly to an end.
For this reason, I feel the need to indulge on Sundays. How? Push all thoughts of work to the deepest darkest recesses of my brain, sleep in, never put on real clothes - and of course eat. Eat plenty of rich, fatty, salty, sweet, wonderful food. Lately going into The City for brunch to do this has become far too much work; after all, that involves putting on shoes. So I've been an at-home glutton. Not a particularly fancy one, but with the proper spirit nonetheless.
If I'm lucky, I can get the hubby to make me waffles or pancakes. He does make excellent pancakes, and he really enjoys doctoring up special sauces for them out of ingredients like fresh figs. But that's a longshot. More likely, I'll make myself up a pot of smoky grits - smoky because they get a shot of smoked Tabasco sauce. Oh, yes. Maybe I'll follow that up with some Sweet & Sara marshmallows that happen to be waiting for me in the fridge? If you haven't tried the strawberry kind yet, you simply haven't lived. And really, who says you can't eat Tofutti Cuties in the afternoon?
I've come to the conclusion that brunch does not have to be fancy. It's just got to be properly enjoyed.